Missions
by footshooter
Summary: He's been sent to kill her. She knows he's been sent to kill her. And yet neither one of them make the first move. Natasha & Clint. Oneshot for now, I might pick it up if I get a stroke of inspiration. T for violence, blood, swearing etc.


**_I have a computer and some writing time! Yaaaay! Hiya. How y'all doing? Good? Great. I'm doing a take on the classic Nat-Clint relationship. I might make it longer than this, depending on my head and the response. I'm uncertain of the quality, as it's not something I delve into often. I'm trying to get across a point that I'm not sure how many people will have experienced. But basically, with some people, you just get a feeling and that's all you need to form a connection. And that connection doesn't ever die down no matter how many arguments you have or owt like that. It's very odd. Believe me on that one. But I imagine that when Natasha and Clint meet, they just get that feeling and that's why he doesn't kill her and she doesn't kill him, and they both go back to S.H.I.E.L.D and become Avengers (eventually). It's probably pretty corny, actually, when I think about it, but never mind._ _I like the characters, the idea makes me happy, I wrote it down. It's that simple. It was bugging me and this was the only way to make it leave! So, anyway, I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for reading!_**

**_-fs_**

* * *

The thing is, deep down, they're the same.

She knows he's following her, he knows she knows. This makes things complicated, because one of them will have to make the first move, and they're both waiting for the other to try it.

It's her territory, so by all means she should protect it. But she's got other worries than just some American with a medieval weapon following her. She has gangs on her tail from her last hit. She's not very popular in her native Russia amongst the people that she should, by all rights, fear. But she doesn't because she's unaccustomed to fear. It's something that has been beaten out of her over years of treatment that is horrific, but she knows no better of. She goes in, does her job and leaves; vanishing back into the night leaving behind tales of flaming hair and a demon with no human emotion.

He had a troubled upbringing, but by no means as bad as hers. He knows little more of her than what he's been told; she's a threat, dangerous, is doing too much damage and needs to be taken out. He's been following her, categorising her moves. But she's erratic and he's pretty sure that she's spotted him by now. He knows he needs to get the job done, but every time she comes into sight and he raises his bow something distracts him and he's content to watch for just one more day.

She doesn't know why he hasn't killed her yet. He's had multiple opportunities and he is able and, quite frankly, it's doing her head in. She has things to do, people to kill; she kids herself every night that one day she'll leave and never come back. She thinks of the places she can visit and return from without blood on her hands. And then she remembers this is stupid, shakes it off and realises she's fantasizing about how death may feel.

She would never take her own life; she knows of people in the 'gang' who have and have been branded cowards. Her reputation is the only thing she has and she can't entertain the thought of having it stripped from her after taking an easy way out. But she can't help but wonder why the yank can't just get it done already and put her out of her misery.

Truth is, she's tired of running. The endless game of cat and mouse is growing weary and the people she is, by nature, grateful to for her life take the piss. She can see this, but she can't see what she can do about it. She's been programmed this way.

And so she continues to do their will; they point her in a direction and she goes in, takes them out and leaves. It is that simple. She then returns to her handlers and they give her other people that have wronged them to remove. She never asks why. She doesn't look into their eyes when they crumple to the ground below her. She doesn't spare them a thought as she walks away while they lie bleeding on the pavement.

Clint made a choice when he was staking out on top of a church that night. His target had been following a certain group, and so had he. He'd caught her glancing at him a few times and he knows she's clever. He can't help but wonder why she hasn't killed him yet. The realisation that he cannot allow her any more chances to do so sets root in his head and he draws his weapon to wait.

Natasha sets off into the darkness, clad in black apart from her hair, dead set on the rival gang leader that she has to remove for her friends from the Red Room. She sneaks into a warehouse near a church via a broken window around the back of the building.

When she drops silently to the floor the first thing her eyes are drawn to is a young girl being kicked by a man, shouting and swearing at her in Russian. This makes her angry and she isn't entirely sure why. He's telling her that she can and must do better otherwise she will be of no use and killed. She's crying.

Natasha snaps the man's neck in a fit of rage that she didn't know she possessed before she had so much as scouted the room. In taking down the four remaining men, she manages to gain quite a nasty knife wound in her side. It stings when she's breathing, but she picks the young girl up nonetheless.

The girl tells her there will be more and she promises it will be okay. The girl needlessly points out that Natasha is hurt, and she again tells her it will all be fine. She tries a smile, but it isn't something that comes to her often and seems forced and pained. She grabs the girls hand and drags her to the door. Five more men are in the alley and Natasha sighs. She tells the girl to wait and takes a deep breath before stepping out into the alleyway.

Clint sees his target appear and sights her down an arrow that has been primed for over an hour. His hands have gone numb, but he barely notices as he takes a deep breath and flexes his fingers.

Natasha motions for the girl to come out, and she scurries into the alley. Natasha motions for her to be quiet and waves her hand to tell her where to go to exit the alley. The girl is reluctant to leave her and Natasha can't, without speaking, tell her how important it is for her to leave now.

The appearance of the girl makes Clint pause. The woman seems genuinely concerned about the child that she's trying to usher away down the alley. That isn't something that a woman with no conscience would undertake. The Romanova he is aware of would leave her behind. He can see her clutching her side, too, and it's almost in slow motion that he sees one of the men turn.

An arrow shoots through his eye socket before he can shout her position, but this in itself draws sufficient attention to Natasha standing in the alley. She swears in Russian and turns, glancing up at Clint and gaining eye contact for the first time. The next thing she knows, he's swung down and is by her side.

Natasha turns and shouts "идти!" to the girl behind them, exaggerating her point with a strong push to the girls back. She runs a few steps, but falters after that, not knowing where to go or how to survive on her own. Natasha and Clint don't notice, their attention on the four men in front of them. One of them could take down all four in hand to hand on their own, and even injured Romanova has a decent chance. But something has sparked in Clint that has been bubbling under the surface since the first time he clapped eyes on her and he can't just stand by.

They leave the four bodies bleeding out in a heap, both panting, Natasha visibly paler than before. She looks at him and manages to grate out, "More will be coming," in a voice that is strangely absent of accent before she straightens up with a wince and starts to jog down the alley. She notices the girl cowering in behind some bins and grabs her hand, pulling her along with them.

Clint takes the lead and against her better interests Natasha follows him. They reach a grubby hotel after travelling around twenty minutes through back alleys and Clint ushers them up an outside stairwell and in through a window.

Inside, Natasha pulls a gun on him straight away, and he raises his hands.

"Why have you not killed me yet?" she asks, as the girl babbles in Russian behind her. She ignores her, and flicks off the safety. "Tell me!"

Clint glances at the floor, and then back at her, arms still raised. He nods towards the wound in her side.

"Don't you think we should get that stitched before you lose more blood?"  
"Answer my _fucking_ question!"

Clint sighs, arms dropping to his sides, and then he shrugs.

"Why haven't you killed me yet?"

The girl is hovering anxiously behind them as Natasha regards Clint, gun still pointed directly at him. Eventually, she moves it away from him, flicking the safety back on and placing it in her pocket.

"Have you got first aid?"  
"Yes."

Clint throws her the box over and then glances at the girl. She's dirty and unnaturally thin.

"Would you like to shower?"

The girl looks at Natasha, who is rifling through the box, and Natasha glances at Clint and back at her.

"Мыть?"

The girl glances wide-eyed towards Clint, and then back to Natasha, and then mutters "Да."

Clint recognises that as an affirmative and points towards the door.

"It's just through here," he says, opening the door and stepping towards her. "I'll show you how it works."

The girl flinches away from him and towards Natasha. Her eyes flicker from the man to the girl and then she mutters, "I think it's best if I do that."

Clint steps back and allows Natasha to take the girl into the bathroom. He hears the shower switch on, the sound of a jug filling with water and mumbled Russian. Natasha exits seconds later with the jug and some towels.

"Is she okay?"

Natasha shrugs.

"What went on in there?"  
"Same thing that goes on in a lot of places in this world."  
"If she's that scared of me, why didn't she leave?"

Natasha looks up at him and it's almost a glare.

"She has nowhere else to go," she states, and it really is that simple. She knows from experience.

Natasha strips and Clint looks away, awkwardly. Natasha rolls her eyes and starts to clean the wound. The only indication he has that it is painful is a sharp intake of breath on the first hit of water.

"Do you have any alcohol?"  
"Oh, um, yeah."  
"Spirits?"  
"Yes."  
"Pass me some."

Clint gets the bottle from the kitchen and hands it back over to Natasha. He tries not to look at her, but it's hard when she's sitting on his bed in her bra; he's only human. He locks eyes with her and blushes, turning away again while she douses the wound in alcohol.

"You saved my life. I think you can look."  
"I don't want to-"

Natasha tuts as she's threading the needle, muttering "люди" under her breath, but her tone is amused. She pushes the needle through her skin and hisses, drawing Clint's eyes back to her.

"Do you need any help?"  
"I'm fine."

The conversation dies for a while as he watches her stitch herself up.

"You've been watching me," Natasha says, and it's not a question. Clint shrugs in response. "What do you know of me?"  
"I was told a few things. But I have my doubts of it's accuracy."

Natasha snorts humourlessly.

"I wouldn't be so quick to judge."  
"You saved that girl."

Natasha looks back to her wound, avoiding the question.

"An amoral, evil person wouldn't do that."  
"She reminded me of someone."

Clint didn't push the point.

"You knew I was there all along. You could have taken me out as easily as I could have gotten you."  
"I was busy."  
"Too busy to remove a threat to your life?"  
"I have many threats to my life."  
"Yes, but you didn't even try."

Natasha locked eyes with him again, just staring, allowing him to feel that prickling again. He broke eye contact first and she went back to stitching the wound.

"Your job is to kill me. Mine was not to kill you. If either of us are at fault it is you."  
"Would you rather I'd killed you?"

Natasha shrugs as she pulls the thread taught and ties a knot in the end of it, snipping it off with string.

"Look," Clint says with a sigh. "I've seen you work. I don't think you're right here. I think you could do better. I think you _deserve_ better."  
"I deserve what I have."  
"No. I don't believe that."

Natasha sighs and looks up at him.

"Why have you got so much faith in me?"

Clint smiles, and it's dopey and honest and warms her heart.

"I figure someone has to."

She almost smiles back before she remembers herself.

"So in an ideal world, what?"  
"We go back to the U.S., I get you a job at where I work. Good income, specific skillset, less worry of being betrayed and killed…"  
"It all sounds wonderful, but I don't think your employers will go for that."  
"I can be very persuasive."

Natasha rolls her eyes.

"I can see something in you. Something good. Just, give me a chance."  
"You're an idiot."  
"Sometimes. Not now. Don't you want to escape?"

Natasha gets to her feet.

"Thank you for saving my life."

"Natasha, wait-"

She spins on her heel and stares at him curiously.

"That's not my name."  
"Just hear me out."

The bathroom door opens and the girl emerges, glancing worriedly at Natasha. She asks where she is going and Natasha sighs, turning away from the door.

"Нигде."

Clint leaves the hotel room to speak with Fury and is gone for some time. Natasha is anxious throughout, feeling confined and trapped. When he returns, Clint is carrying bags full of women's clothes and three pizza boxes, a huge smile on his face. Natasha helps him put out the food while the girl gets changed in the second bedroom, not bother by Clint seeing her without anything on.

"I told you I could be persuasive."  
"Hmm."  
"We can drop the girl off at the embassy on our way back. They'll look after her."  
"Okay."

Clint paused.

"Don't make me regret this."

His tone makes Natasha turn and look into his eyes. She places her hand over his and squeezes.

"I'll try not to."

He smiles and they spend the evening eating pizza and drinking cheap vodka. The girl falls asleep on the sofa and Natasha wakes her up and helps her to the second bedroom – possibly the first time she's slept in a bed for a long time. She closes the door behind her, hearing the deep breathing before she'd even left.

"She seems calmer."  
"She's learning to trust you."  
"What about you?"  
"I'm not so easily swayed, I'm afraid."

Clint smirks, hearing the teasing in Natasha's voice.

"Oh, okay. So what do I have to do to change that?"

Natasha laughs, and she's almost surprised by the sound herself.

"Hmm. We'll see. I'm sure I can think of something. Starting with me getting the bed!"  
"Oh, c'mon. I'm not sleeping on the sofa! It's freezing!"

Natasha jumps to her feet.

"Fight you for it?"

Clint holds up his hands.

"You can have it."

She laughs again.

"I'm sure we can share."  
"I'm sure we'll be doing a lot of that."

Natasha raises her eyebrows and Clint blushes again.

"That sounded better in my head. I just meant that, well, you're my responsibility now. So we'll be on a few joint missions and-"  
"I knew what you meant."

They strip down in the bedroom and crawl under the covers, a good gap between their bodies but the heat warming the chill up instantly.

"How does it feel knowing you don't have to go back there?"

Natasha is staring at the ceiling through the darkness and takes some time to answer the question.

"I don't know," she begins. "I suppose it's kind of freeing."

Clint pauses.

"I saw something in you that reminded me of myself. That's why I didn't kill you. I wasn't the perfect choice of soldier either. People showed me that there is a better way. Now I'm repaying the favour."  
"I appreciate what you've done for me. I just don't know if you're asking too much."

Clint rolls over to stare at her.

"I don't think I am."

Natasha turns her head on the pillow to glance at him, red hair fanning out underneath her.

"We'll see."  
"I guess we will."


End file.
